A breath caught as a drop.
Caught as bejewelling dew
on frozen twigs, cold and dead:
what's breath was water was ice.
Melted prayers before rising god.
So it begins. So it ends
So it ends. So it begins.
A hallelujah of drops
frozen for a moment before
drowning in soil
or caught in the geometry
of ice cracked puddles.
An infinity caught in a history
written by that criminal - Time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem